


Through the Misty Forest

by dreykar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fauns & Satyrs, Fawnlock, Friendship, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreykar/pseuds/dreykar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Sherlock (Fawnlock) begins to investigate the strange disappearances that have been happening in his forest, he stumbles across the cottage of a Man, John. Can Sherlock solve the mystery of the vanishings before the worst of the Winter settles in?  Why does the matter seem to be getting more and more personal as time goes on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Having seen a few pieces of art of Fawnlock and then jumping onto the actual [ Fawnlock Tumblr ](http://fawnlock.tumblr.com) (which I highly recommend heading across to! Thanks for the idea for this story, mods), I thought I'd give a Fawnlock story a go. I also read a couple of great recs at [ Fuck Yeah Johnlock Fanfic ](http://fuckyeahjohnlockfanfic.tumblr.com) , also on Tumblr and a wonderful site!
> 
> If you haven't read one before or seen any pics it may be worth looking up but hopefully there is enough information in the story to make up for it.
> 
> My Fawnlock is a bit different to others, for a start he's called Sherlock but apart from goat style legs as others have done (but not all) he looks similar.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It is going to be a very cold Winter in the forest. Sherlock can read it in the flora and feel it in the wind. Many of the plants are already frostbitten and it is only early in the season which doesn't bode well.

Most of the animals are talking about it incessantly and even though Sherlock likes his solitude it is often beneficial to listen to the gossip around the trees. You never know what you can find out with so many eyes and ears out there at all different heights and with varying strengths and points of view.

But what has taken over from their worry about the upcoming weather are the creatures that seem to be disappearing without a trace from the forest. Tales are being passed around about animals there one minute and then gone the next, never seen again and leaving no trace behind.

Well, no trace to most. Sherlock, however, prides himself on being able to see details that others do not. His brother, Mycroft, is the only other he knows that has this ability. But his elder sibling instead keeps himself busy running the animal hierarchy and territories. He stays around the same area only rarely deviating from his path from where he sleeps to the place that he does his thinking and meets with the other important animals.

Sherlock on the other hand is a far more curious being. To try to satisfy his insatiable need for knowledge he is in his element dashing about, learning, discovering and experimenting all around the forest. He largely keeps to himself but he and Mycroft meet sometimes to discuss the goings-on in Sherlock's life. On one of these occasions Mycroft comments in their language "I understand telling you to stay away from these disappearances would be a waste of time. Instead I request that when you  _do_  find something you tell me all you know". The brothers come to an agreement between them. Their relationship is not as strained as it appears from the outside but it is still not ideal.

Amongst his usual activities Sherlock places his focus on investigating these vanishings. He gathers some data which leads him to think that these departures are involuntary. He's spoken as best he can with many of the packs or kin of those who have gone and finds that none had showed any strange symptoms or signs before leaving. There were never any strange tracks left and the footprints of the animal that were left behind just stopped with no signs of a struggle.

Sherlock knows that he needs to be nearby when one of these possible animal-napings occurs so he can search the scene before it is destroyed and all evidence is gone. He has to be missing  _something_!

On one of his longer evening treks through the forest he comes upon the living arrangements of a Man. It is one of the old cottages that is in the Lestrade family who have a rare understanding with those of the Forest. It was not well known the creatures who reside here and humans in general did not take kindly to discovering those such as Mycroft and Sherlock. There is an occasional sharing of information with the Lestrades that is mutually beneficial. Mycroft and Sherlock had met Greg, he'd even taught Sherlock some English although he'd only known him by his surname. He hasn't seen him in at least four seasons and for a moment Sherlock wonders if he is back? But no, he doesn't favour this 'cottage', it must be someone else.

As curious as ever he listens to this side of him above his other instincts, although he doesn't feel as though he will be in danger if he stalks up to have a quick look inside. He is halfway across the yard next to a vegetable patch when suddenly a short man with light hair comes barreling out the door, carrying many bottles that have a sharp burning smell to them.

Sherlock freezes with wide eyes, taking the look of a startled deer. All that moves is a little of his fur in the light, cool breeze. He is watching, poised, ready to escape if necessary. His brain is calling out that he's been unwise to approach like this.  The light coming from the widow shines enough just to highlight him but not show him off too much.

The Man seems relaxed and dangerously unaware of his surroundings. He mustn't be used to predators in this area. Sherlock wonders if what had been in those bottles had been like the toadstool he'd once eaten that made all the colours go wild and his surroundings bend and change. His inhibitions had flown away and once he woke up, body aching, he gazed up to see a very angry Mycroft.

Apparently as an afterthought the human casually sweeps his eyes around his yard when suddenly his visitor catches his attention and he comes to a very swift halt and stares. He takes in Sherlock's small antlers and fluffy sideways ears, the patches of fur that are strategically placed around his body. He doesn't get a good look at his goat shaped legs and hooves but he does see the strange dark brown circular markings that litter the bare skin that is on show.

He could have looked more but in a surprising move, instead of running or trying to attack he begins to laugh and laugh which makes no sense. Sherlock stays still and watches as the man puts the bag next to the house which makes a chinking, rattling sound while the human continues to find amusement in the faun's presence. The smell from the bag is on his breath and he is not completely steady on his feet. Next moment he is back in his cottage, door locked.

Heart thudding wildly, Sherlock stays where he is for a moment before heading back through the trees before either of them changes their mind. He knows he should stay away but over the coming weeks he finds himself drawn to the place. The human doesn't see him again but Sherlock discovers quite a bit about his movements. He's always had an interest in the Men, to find out all he can about them, but had been told to avoid them if he valued his life. Lestrade was an exception. Surely watching from a distance would be fine.

Eventually new information on the mystery he is trying to get to the bottom of distracts Sherlock.

One afternoon he is walking around a worn path in the forest, deeply thinking and not fully concentrating on his surroundings. It isn't until he is looking down the barrel of a gun held by the blond Man that he again remembers again Mycroft's words on the importance of staying away from Men.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stays as still as he can while he reads the situation. His soft ears twitch and small snuffling sounds emanate from his nose as he interprets the scents in the air. As this goes on he internally scolds himself for being so distracted that he is in this situation in the first place. One reason being that he wanted to meet this person on his own terms and now he is on the back hoof.

It's the same Man from the cottage. Dressed in a green jacket, dark trousers and a checked button down. As he stands his ground, clearly with the upper hand, he sucks in deep breaths as he takes in the being around ten feet in front of him. He's nothing like he has even seen before. But no matter how much of a shock this is the weapon is steady in his hand, which is notable. His blue eyes are brighter close up and they're not as vacant as Sherlock assumed they'd be. There is intelligence there amongst other things.

The astounding thing about this one is that he isn't giving off anger and only a small amount of fear. Yes, there is bewilderment but he is mostly unafraid. His bravery is something Sherlock respects however he wonders if that very quality may be the end of him.

" _Jesus_ " the human breathes, taking all of Sherlock in this time. He spends a long moment gazing at his legs, hooves and antlers but he doesn't look disgusted, just stunned. "You...you...you're real? You're not- I thought, when I'd been drinking…". He trails off, trying to get his head around what is clearly before him.

Sherlock gets the general idea of that statement and almost feels like rolling his eyes but he doesn't want to make any sudden movements. Instead he relaxes his body slightly hoping the other will copy his signals. It's a trick he's used with attackers before to great success.

The man takes a couple of steps back for safety and lowers the handgun. The limp that Sherlock had spied from the trees is still there but it must have improved since he saw him last.

"Do you live around here?". The human's voice is clear, inquisitive but not harshly demanding. He then adds "Wait, do you speak English?"

Sherlock is relieved that the immediate threat has lessened and excited by the possibility that he will be able to interact with this human as he originally planned. However, he is frustrated with his lack of language skills. "Some" he replies in his deep tone, recognising 'speak' and 'English'. Sherlock wishes he could use his native tongue to show how much he knows. How he is an intellectual of his kind.

The Man nods and when he speaks again it has taken on a slightly slower tone. "My name is John. Do you have a name?"

John.  _John_. It seems to fit him. "I am Sherlock". This was one of the first phrases Lestrade had taught him many years ago.

A nod. "Sherlock. Nice to meet you. Geez, they said there was some crazy stuff out here, but I thought…" he left it at that, flicking a switch on his gun and placing it in his pocket. "Listen, I was out this way because I heard some strange noises. Did you-"

At this Sherlock cuts him off as he sniffs widely at the air around them. He looks at all directions and squints into the trees.  _Predator_. Incoming attack, single wolf. Threat to them both.

Unexpectedly John crashes into him after running forwards while his back was turned and they tumble down onto the forest floor. Sherlock growls, about to sit up and pin John to the ground in revenge for his attack. However, before he can move a wolf flies over the top of them. Sherlock freezes and looks into his saviours eyes. John wasn't being aggressive to him at all, he had protected them both from the initial onslaught.

Instinct kicks in. Sherlock rolls and crouches then launches himself at the wolf who is about to jump again too. He tackles it into the soil, causing it to whine. It eventually wriggles free and begins to snap and snarl. John is forgotten as he moves to the side, the two animals face each other and being to circle. This is when Sherlock realises his aggressor has been sent here to send a message.

"Forget the disappearances" it communicates, its cold grey eyes have no mercy within. "Not yours to get involved with"

"Why, who sent you?" Sherlock queries but it's only answered with another growl. A gust of wind kicks up a few dry leaves which float past. The breeze pushes their fur around, tempting the other to react to the movement.

The tension builds, the moment lengthens then suddenly the grey wolf is on him again, trying to bite at his throat, to scratch at his chest and drive its warning home. Sherlock is a talented fighter but this wolf is getting some damage in.

Out of nowhere a loud bang erupts, tearing through the air and the beast releases his victim.

John is half sitting on the ground, smoking gun raised towards the sky. It is only a warning shot but it's not a natural sound for the two creatures and they stop in their tracks. After a moment the wolf takes one hesitant step forward but John stiffly gets himself into a standing position, his shoulder paining him, and bellows "No!" whilst staring it down. Behind him a twig snaps and all three of them turn.

The wolf howls and races off in the direction of the sound, barking and snapping.

John squints into the trees, then turns to Sherlock who begins to move past him pointing his finger away from where the wolf had gone. His eyes pleading for him to come along.

John shrugs and without question begins to follow the now running faun through the trees. Sherlock gets ahead but John isn't too far behind. They make it a small way before stopping when they see a small red fox who seems terrified of them. Sherlock makes a tutting sound and looks irritated.

It is then the female begins to communicate with Sherlock as John watches on with confusion. "I heard voices, th-then fighting and I-"

"Why did you interrupt, Molly?" Sherlock questions her in the shared animal language.

She's now watching John, completely terrified. The smell of the fired weapon clings to him and foxes know what it means. "Well I, I didn't-. I thought I could make a distraction, he was hurting you and-"

"-I was about to ask where it came from!"

"It wouldn't have answered. We've se-seen them more and more in these parts and we think they're up to no good and-"

"- _I_  would have made him answer" he sulks. He is beginning to realise that Molly may be right but he won't give her the satisfaction of knowing this.

"Are you talking to the fox?" John cuts in with a curious expression. Sherlock just stares so he rephrases it and indicates to Molly. "Do you know her?"

"Yes"

"And you are speaking to her?" this time makes a few hand signals and what he is trying to get across is clearer.

"Yes. Made noise. Attract wolf to her"

"Oh, right" John nods. He then thinks back over what has occurred over the last few minutes and he is laughing. He's laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes.

Sherlock watches, not understanding at all what is going on. He is about to ask Molly but when he turns back she has gone so he tries to communicate with the human instead. He quirks his head to the side in curiosity.

"Well" John begins through his chuckles as he comes down from his mirth. "I go for a walk in the forest. I come across a talking, sorry I don't know what the correct term for you is. I come across something I didn't know existed. We talk, then I save you from a sneak attack from an angry wolf, we then run through the forest chasing a fox who you can somehow talk to who and I then find out was trying to create a distraction for us. It's the craziest thing I've ever done". And he is smiling, smiling so hard Sherlock can't help but grin back. The gesture is used between fellow fauns however Sherlock rarely has any reason to smile at others. With John it feels comfortable and they've only just met. He doesn't understand all of what John has said but he feels as though they have a shared understanding between them.

"You're hurt" John's expression drops. Sherlock looks down at his chest and sees that there are a couple of scratches that are slightly bloody. John steps forwards to get a better look and something clicks into place, it also explains the running.

"Better" Sherlock says, pointing at John's leg. He isn't really limping now.

He gazes down and seems a little in awe. "I-. I ran too.  _That's_  interesting". He takes a moment then continues. "Shoulder is still no good though". He rolls it and winces. "Especially when I'm using it to slam into you. You're heavy by the way, just so you know. I take it you say thank you for saving you back there?". He mimes pushing the other and the attacker going over them.

"It was…" Sherlock tries to search for the word "…good".

"You're welcome. Listen you should come back to mine and I can tend to those wounds. Also, I want to know what else to expect out here and then you can be on your way if you like". Sherlock doesn't comprehend his words so John tries again, pointing to the injury. "Hurt. Fix at my cottage". The faun seems to understand cottage and nods. It appears that he learns actions quickly from John. "I'm a doctor. Well I'm trained. I should tell you all about it sometime if you want to hear it".

Sherlock nods again as he takes in the Man before him, responding to the tone of what is said not the content. He's amazed that he's allowed to be this close.

They begin to walk back to the cottage in silence, not seeing any more animals again during their journey but watching each other as though the other couldn't be more fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this take on Fawnlock so far.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning that there is a brief look back on John's depression after being invalided home and some behaviours that can be associated with that. It's not the whole chapter and is just included for backstory purposes.

Around twenty minutes later John is opening the front door to his abode, muttering something about it being a bit messy as he hasn't had a visitor in the two months that he's been here. He steps into the cottage leaving the entrance open for the faun.

Sherlock tentatively sniffs at the air as he cautiously stands on the doormat, his ears twitch as does his petite tail. He has been inside before with Lestrade but he wants to take the time to detect any danger before going in. He may feel a strange sense of safety around this human but he isn't going to take any chances as it could all be a trick and he could suddenly find himself trapped.

In the meantime, John is doing a quick whip around to try and make the place presentable. This includes taking dishes into the kitchen, moving books off chairs and opening windows to air the place as it has been getting a bit stale. He doesn't think his visitor would know what the empty alcohol bottles are, and it's not like he has been getting drunk every night, but his face tinges pink as he places a weeks worth of empties into a cardboard box in the kitchen. There are a lot more than he thought there were going to be. Things have been boring and for a time he'd begun to drink more at night while here in the cottage. But he realises now that enough is enough. He has known for a while that his behaviour has to change but he didn't see a reason to. Having a guest, even if he never sees him again, has put into focus that he needs to get around to pulling himself together. He thinks that the beginnings of being able to follow through with that line of thought may have started in the forest half an hour ago but he understands that it won't be an instant fix.

Sherlock's eyes flick from the art on the walls, to the blankets on the couch to the other things he doesn't know the name of.  _'Furniture_ ' pops up in his mind so it may be that. Even though the place is familiar to him he has only spent time here during the day. Whenever he and Lestrade had finished with English lessons he'd leave again not wanting to spend too much time enclosed in that small space. He didn't always trust that Lestrade had his best intentions at heart when the man was so close to his brother.

Then when he had been watching John from afar these past few weeks he had seen the inside of this cottage at night and now he wanted to work out how the sunlight was contained only in here when it is dark outside. Maybe Mycroft is right and his insatiable curiosity will one day be the end of him but for now he is going to keep searching for answers.

"Well come on in, this is the best I'm going to get it for now" John encourages as he sees his visitor still hesitating on the front step. "I don't bite"

" _Bite_ " Sherlock repeats softly and bares his teeth with snap of his jaw. When John rears back slightly the faun then closes his mouth and quirks his head to the side like a confused dog. He knows what biting is, why is this man scared? It's not like he was going to do it  _to_  him, just showing he knows what it means. This is communication, yes?

John realises he should say something. "It's fine, it's all fine. I'm not going to hurt you" he responds, hands raised then he waves Sherlock in. He may be saying it's fine and to come inside but as he stands there he is suddenly having second thoughts about inviting a wild animal into his living area. The clarity of the situation hits him hard but he realises that he hasn't felt this alive in years. If he is going to die he may as well go out with excitement. The quiet life he's been suffering through recently feels as though it was actually killing him but this is fun, this gets his heart rate going. It is new, different,  _dangerous_. "I'm going to get a kit for your cuts. Have a look around".

Sherlock stares at him almost blankly. So John points from himself to the other end of the house then at Sherlock to the open area of the room and mimes looking at things. He wonders if the creature will be there when he returns and a part of him hopes he will be.

John walks into the small bathroom and begins to search through some of his medical supplies. He finds what he is after in around a minute but takes some extra time to think through exactly what is going on. Should he call Harry? She has been trying to get in contact but he doesn't really want to speak with her. Once he was invalided back home from Afghanistan he didn't want to live with her as they'd never been able to get along.

John looks up into the mirror then his gaze flicks downwards towards the basin as he acknowledges the new lines etched into his skin and the dark shadows that have taken up residence.

He'd fallen into depression after returning to London, he knew this but he'd stand by the fact that his sessions with his psychologist, Ella, were pointless. Why he had to go so often to give her updates was beyond him as nothing ever happened to him. A surgeon with a tremor was useless and his bedsit was a dull and boxy space which didn't help his state of mind. All in all he knew he didn't have much going for him and at the time the gun in his drawer, the one now safely back in his bedside table after today's session, was looking friendlier and friendlier. He registered that these were not the thoughts of the John Watson he was before he went to fight overseas. He didn't think he'd ever be that John Watson again.

One day as he walked back from Ella's he'd run into an old associate, Mike Stamford. Mike had said that he didn't know of any locum roles going at the hospital but in the meantime he could recommend something to give him a bit of a change in lifestyle. "Well if you're interested I know of somewhere where you can live for a while"

John scoffed and gripped his takeaway cup tighter, face as bitter as his sugar-free coffee. "I can't afford London on an army pension"

"You won't have to with this, it's out in the country. I've stayed out there a few times myself with the wife. Quaint little cottage. Well there's a few there but I know just the one you'll want" at this he gave a knowing smile. "Go for a walk in the forest while you're there, you never know what you might find in that place"

At 'walk' a pained look of self-loathing crossed John's face and he kicked at his cane. Mike seemed to stand by his statement, though. "I don't know. Apparently I should be looking for work"

"It's up to you. But let me give you Greg's number"

"Greg?"

"Lestrade. His family own most of the properties that actually sit in the forest. They've been out there for many, many years. Greg goes between there and London, he's sort of a woodsman or sheriff of sorts. A keeper of the law and order"

There seemed to be something that Stamford wasn't telling him. But John ran through in his mind what he'd been up to recently and decided that he needed to do something different. This could be a great change and the exercise good for his recovery. "Ok, I guess a break couldn't hurt. So it's quiet? Boring? I've had enough of those two, I can tell you"

"The cottage? Nice and cozy. But the forest? I know for a fact it's dangerous, never know what you might come across"

John nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "Ok, how do I talk to this Greg?"

Back in the cottage, John braces himself against the bathroom sink. _Mike knew_. He must know about Sherlock's kind, if there is more than one of him. For some reason it all made sense, Mike was really doing him a huge favour. At this he gives a soft chuckle, resigned to the knowledge that someone was looking after him, and bends down to get a couple of clean flannels from a shelf under the sink. He then stands upright again, not realising that he does so without the aid of anything to steady him. Suddenly the idea of Sherlock didn't seem so crazy. Other people know of them too, he isn't going mad. Also, he'd have to have a go at Lestrade, what a bastard for not telling him. They'd only spoken on the phone at this point but he seems an alright bloke. They'd agreed to have beers next time Greg had some free time and was out that way.

John realises he's been gone for too long when he hears furniture and items being pushed around and knocked over, a crash and then a yelp. He moves quickly, arms full of medical supplies and towels, running into the main area of his home.

At this Sherlock looks up from where he is crouched by a plush armchair on the opposite side of the main room. His eyes are wide but the most surprising thing is that there is a large lampshade wedged onto his antlers.

John barely takes in the fact that there are items scattered all over the floor. Sherlock is on all fours which seems difficult with hooves and by the tears in the chair's material it seems as though he must have head-butted the seat trying to grab something from under it in a hurry. He couldn't looked guiltier if he'd tried. After a moment their eye contact is broken as a rabbit scurries out from under the chair and bolts through the open door. That must have been what the faun had been chasing and he is feeling exposed after being discovered.

Seeing that he is unhurt John gazes back up to the beige lampshade again and can't help giggling. The serious creature in front of him looks ridiculous and seems almost insulted at being caught red handed. "Nice hat" he chuckles, nodding towards the offending item.

"Not mine" Sherlock huffs and attempts to shake it off himself. When that doesn't work he goes back to trying to rub it off on a table then a different chair.

"Wait!" John calls out and walks over, not wanted something else to be damaged. Most of the belongings here aren't his and he doesn't want to have to pay for them. Sherlock is about to startle away but John holds his hands out and makes eye contact, hoping this shows he is no threat. When the faun doesn't move he reaches up and pulls the item off and places it back on the knocked over lamp that it had come from.

By the time John turns back Sherlock has stopped watching him carefully and is standing again. He then continues his search of the premises. He picks up books, turns them over then either throws them behind him or just drops them on the floor, ready to investigate the next thing. This is going to take ages to clean up.

"So" John begins, hoping to halt the destruction "was that rabbit a friend of yours?"

Sherlock stops and turns his head to the side again and frowns. John points to under the chair and mimics it hurrying through the door. At this he does go and close the front door but not before showing his visitor how the handle works.

"No. It wanted food"

"Ah, well, that can happen. If you like, once we've cleaned ourselves up I'll get you something to eat". John gazes towards his medical supplies not really knowing where to start. He also has the sinking feeling that this is going to be a real challenge. "Ok, I need you to stay calm and let me look at those scratches".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support so far. I'm wondering if people would prefer a shorter or longer story? I have two plans and it could go either way. It would be great to get some feedback. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock gets the idea that John wants to touch him fairly quickly and growls in warning. As he does he lowers his head a little so he is ready to charge with his antlers if need be. How does he know that this isn't the trick that he's been anticipating?

John takes a step back and lowers his saline drenched wipe. "Sherlock, shhhh. Calm down. I need to do this. Look". At this he uses the cloth to wipe at a small cut he has on his own hand which he sustained when the wolf attacked. The faun watches on in fascination. "See? It just clears away the dirt and blood. Here". At this he wets another clean piece of material and holds it out.

Hesitant fingers grab it, careful not to touch the human, and a thorough inspection begins. He sniffs it, brings it to his mouth then obviously decides it may be better not to taste it. To him it appears to be harmless. Next he copies John's actions and wipes at his small cuts. It seems as though he does this out of sheer curiosity more than anything. He has mimicked John's manner perfectly, perhaps he thinks it is some kind of ritual? He then hands the soiled cloth back to the blond who takes on the expression of someone being handed back their soiled, borrowed handkerchief.

"Cheers" he says, not sounding too impressed. He brightens though when he takes note of the progress they've made. "See? That wasn't so bad. It will stop those from getting infected. Sore"

"Sore" Sherlock repeats, pointing at John's shoulder.

He stands there saying nothing for a moment, going completely still. He then nervously pumps his left hand in and out of a fist, body tightening with tension. "Yes. I was shot". When Sherlock twists his head John reluctantly mimes a cocked gun and mimics 'Bang!'.

The faun jumps and stumbles backwards and then seems a little sheepish once he realises that was just a re-enactment of what had happened at a previous time. But you can never be too careful. All the intelligent animals in the forest are worried about guns, they know what they are and that they bring death.

"Not today" John reassures. "Look". He hitches up his jumper and undoes his buttons enough to reveal his bullet wound.

That seems to get the fauns attention. Fear forgotten he moves forward and lowers his head and gazes at the scar, face hovering ten centimetres from it. " _Sore_ " he mutters. He reaches out to touch it but then it is John's turn to move away.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't". His voice is tight, emotion withheld. "I know you're curious but-" he doesn't know what to say "-ah, another day. Later". Sherlock apparently doesn't like to be told no, his face sours immediately. John changes tact. "Let's get something to eat. Food" he explains until Sherlock nods. "I'm going to put this away" he illustrates by waving an open hand towards the medical items. "Stay here, I'll be back".

John places the used items in the bathroom bin and securely returns the kit to its shelf. He needs a moment to calm down. He has no idea why bringing up the wound has affected him so deeply. He'd had to tell many people what had occurred since it happened, why would this be any different? The answer hits him: he's worried that Sherlock will distance himself because of it for some reason. John knows this is rooted in the feelings of brokenness and uselessness that he's battled with since being invalided home.

Leaving that aside, in terms of cleaning up the cuts it all went better than expected. This small opportunity of playing doctor again and caring for someone has brought things back that he'd thought had drained from him alongside his blood into the Afgani sand.

He'd noted that the fauns skin is tougher than a humans and now that it has been cleaned it will heal nicely. He gives himself a small smile, now that he's calmed back down he knows this is the best he's felt in a long time. He could question  _what_  Sherlock is, why they had bumped into each other, if he is safe, is this dangerous? But he feels as though he should just let things progress as they are. Perhaps they could see each other regularly? He hadn't realised how lonely he'd been until this contact.

At this he heads off to the main area of the cottage. "Right. What I am thinking is that-" John starts in the hallway but stops suddenly as he steps into the living room and sees the front door wide open. The creature has left. Gone without even saying goodbye. His stomach drops with a sinking feeling.

Slowly, and with a lack of enthusiasm, he walks over to the door to close it and lock himself in for the night. This is when he hears some soft sounds coming from the left side of the yard. Quickly stepping out he sees Sherlock squatting in the vegetable garden, munching on a carrot as though he owns the place.

Warm relief spreads through John's body as he realises he hasn't been abandoned. He chuckles, disappointment evaporating.

The faun gives what John believes to be some sort of a mental shoulder shrug and keeps eating. It's as though he's saying that if John wants to stand there and act crazily that's his business, he has more important things to attend to.

"I-I have food inside?" John offers, glancing at the dirty vegetables. They haven't been washed properly but then again most of what this creature eats probably isn't either. Actually, what does Sherlock eat? This is answered for now by the scraps at his feet. It's obvious that he is onto his third carrot and is showing no signs of stopping as it is pulled it from the ground, given a quick brush then is being munched upon.

"I-ok". When John mentioned getting some food together before it must have been a clear message and also an invitation that was accepted. Happily going along with this John heads inside and heats up the leftover soup from last night's meal and fills up a large mug for himself. He then wraps up in a thick green jacket, brings a chair and joins Sherlock in the yard. The sun is beginning to go down and the air is becoming chilly.

They are silent as they enjoy their respective dinners. Every so often, still crouching, Sherlock inspects the plants and moves things around. He seems perfectly at ease consuming as much as he likes. By the fauns fifth carrot, and who knows what else, John speaks up. "Are you trying to eat me out of house and home?"

Sherlock scoffs, actually scoffs. The amusement and something close to arrogance radiates from him. How natural is that for an animal? Has this been brought up with him before?

From here they spend time just being in each others company, both seem to be getting better with the fact that the other could be a danger but they have a either truce or no intention to harm. After half an hour, with many of the vegetables gone, the ex-doctor walks inside and turns on a few of the lights as the last of the sun retreats below the horizon.

When he steps backwards through the doorway however, he runs solidly into Sherlock who had followed him silently trying to look at the lights. John accidentally kicks heavily with his boots into just above one of the faun's hooves causing Sherlock to yelp wildly. Before John can do anything Sherlock is scurrying off into the trees favouring the other leg. In a flash he is out of sight.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John calls after him but it's no use, the faun is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support so far. Feedback is welcome :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated :)


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